Epilogue
In his time, Master Vaun Ardann had bested many a formidable enemy.
But on that night he met his match.
The mechanical monstrosity did not even bother to ignite its own blades even when the Zeltron rushed with impossible speed across the plaza while the crowd of red-eyed droids seemed to watch the spectacle.
Ardann could already feel his blades burning through his hated adversary's metal body as he raised his blue lightsabers high.
Then with speed surpassing anything the Jedi Master had encountered, it seemed to blink out of existence from where it once stood.
Ardann was ten feet away from the monster one moment, and suddenly they were face-to-face.
Only then, with a surge of sickening dread did he feel cold, inhuman hands closing against his wrists.
Ardann vainly attempted to push his attack desperately onward.
The reptilian eyes that now were the color of fire in the light of the red moon seemed to humor him for that most infinitesimal moment.
Then with effortless strength, it crushed and twisted his wrists.
His twin blue blades faded out of existence as they tumbled through his useless fingers, his scream of torment echoing through the dead junkscape of the planet.
The thing let go of his ruined wrists and as he crumpled forward, a metallic fist struck him in the gut with the force of a supernova.
Ardann's pain prevented him from using the Force from cushioning such an impact and he vomited out a torrent of blood, feeling the sickening sensation of ribs breaking and organs rupturing from within.
The Zeltron Jedi tumbled backward from the ironclad fist and just as his body hit the scrap that served for the floor did a taloned foot shatter his right knee into oblivion.
A fresh, hoarse shout of agony brought forth another paroxysm of bloody vomitus.
Under the red rays of Raxus Prime's moon did he try to crawl toward the tunnel.
His hope.
His valor.
His knowledge of the Force.
His very life.
All meaningless then in the maddening terror that had devoured him completely.
Dozens of dead, red eyes watched his bloody, gasping, pathetic excuse of an escape.
His ragged breathing grew even more laboured when the same impossibly powerful hand lifted him by his neck.
He had never been more afraid in his entire life.
His entire body was failing.
He was dying.
And the worst was yet to come.
His failing eyes beheld the blood-spattered skull-face of his enemy.
His last sight, a blade of blue fire in the grasp of the monster's free hand.
A blade that was once his own.